


easy there—

by echotovalley



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echotovalley/pseuds/echotovalley
Summary: Being a paladin isn’t easy. Being a paladin a little in love with your best friend that’s also a paladin is even harder. But they make it work, together. And, no matter how many times, Lance will be there to catch Keith.- a oneshot based on itsthearthipelago‘s art
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	easy there—

**Author's Note:**

> **notes:** itsthearthipelago was kind enough to give me permission to write something based on her art but she hasn't read it, so it's not necessarily endorsed. this was supposed to just be centered around the scene in the art but I got carried away.  
>  **warnings:** some canon-typical depictions of violence & injury, but nothing descriptive or graphic
> 
> [art](https://itsthearthipelago.tumblr.com/post/636625989366071296/easy) that inspired!

With the lions, his friends exist just on the fringes of his subconscious. There’s the low rumble of each of the lions there too and, if Lance focuses hard enough, he can make out the cool press of Allura’s power and determination ebbing from the castle as the shields or cannon power up from her quntessence connection with the lions.

They spend a lot of time familiarizing themselves with this and the fast pace of battle - for Coran and Allura it’s second nature. But for the gangly limbs of a handful of teenagers and a war vet, there’s a learning curve. It’s an added element that’s fast to drain their energy if they’re not careful. 

It can also get pretty loud - which is saying something since Lance grew up with four very rowdy siblings. 

Hence the practices, the hours and _hours_ of being hooked up to the little mind meld helmets as they sit in a circle or run drills on the training deck with bots hurtling at them and around the room as they’re blasted across the space. At any given moment, there are thousands of things running through their minds and hearing their own mental commentary plus four teammates' is enough to scramble defenses and any chance of any A game they had.

They go through a lot of those water/juice pouch things Coran is all too eager to press into their hands or chuck at them with the Altean version of ‘heads up!’.

They work _so_ hard.

They fight with everything they have and then, still find some hidden well to pull more to fight with when the initial reserve runs out.

When Lance takes his helmet off after a long day of piloting a sentient, alien lion ship and hearing and feeling the racing thoughts and emotions of five people while trying to shoot and not _be_ shot, his mind is a numbing buzz of gray. There’s spillover emotion from his teammates still coursing through his veins when he falls into place at the dinner table and can only blink at the plate of food goo set in front of him.

Nobody talks, but there’s still a million conversations zinging between them.

Red got mad, her raw roar still rattles against Lance’s skull - Keith’s hoarse yell is there too, matching his lion’s frustration and fury.

His eyes swim with equations that seem to pass and float in front of his eyes, making his food or whatever he’s staring at a jumble of algebra and trig with a splash of chemistry - that’s Pidge.

A mountain of nerves physically bows his back and tightens a band around his heart. All of it his best buddy Hunk that Lance would do anything for, including and not limited to taking away all of that self-doubt and apologetics that crash over him like unrelenting waves.

His own train of thought is in there somewhere, he just can’t hear it himself over all of the others. It makes him nauseous to think about, what the others have to deal with - what they’re stuck hearing or feeling from him through the ghost of a mental connection that takes its time to fade long after they’ve spilled out of their lions and their helmets are placed carefully over their armor.

Shiro is harder to read, almost impossible to hear if it’s anything less than pride or encouragement. But even the Garrison’s golden boy is merely human, just as much of a victim to the surprises and upheavels of battle as they are. He can’t edit everything all of the time (he shouldn’t have to, there has to be some line where even Shiro shakes under the weight of such a burden). Lance has older siblings, so he gets what Shiro’s trying to do - shelter and save them from the darker parts, keep them from having similar experiences. If he’s caught off guard or stretched too thin, the things Shiro fights so hard to keep from the rest of the team slips out.

It swings across the bond like a pendulum.

Lance wants to embrace it, wants to get himself together enough to let Shiro know in some way that it’s okay. His realistic fears won’t make Lance think any less of his hero. He’s caught between embracing the guy in the world’s biggest hug and shrinking back in fear because at the end of the day, they’ve fallen into a dynamic. Shiro is their adult while still young himself, while _still_ recovering from the horrors of the Galra Empire. 

And even though they’re getting older, himself, Keith, Hunk, and Pidge, their brains still recognize themselves as kids looking for a trusting adult to rub their shoulder and squeeze their hand when they’re unsure and scared.

It isn’t a mantle Shiro holds on his own, Coran’s been trying to help hold that weight. He can’t know what they’re going through, won’t because he’s never heard a lion’s call, but he does as much as he can. Lance doesn’t miss the way he tries to help Shiro reorient himself and make him see that he isn’t alone.

Allura is difficult to pinpoint, she’s the twinkling light of a star lightyears away since she isn’t actually in a lion or wearing a helmet. It’s more like the hum of her spirit woven together with the energy the lions run on. After a battle or in the middle of one that doesn’t seem to end, her thoughts shake. Distant still like that star whose light travels all that way to be seen, but close enough with her tie to the lions that Lance can make out the outline of her own unsure youth and fear and loss.

It takes more work.

More fumbling losses and wins that are barely progress to the larger victories as planets welcome them, thank them for their help, and become allies. With the victories comes the more complex sides of being a Paladin, but they work it out.

Same as wearing the mind meld devices during a few drills.

Being in the lions isn’t as loud or nauseating. Lance figures they’ve each got their own strategy to sort out the mess of thoughts and roars of the lions.

Just when things seem to come more easy - missions, gaining alliances, and dealing with the human-alien language barrier, a few things change.

They find their own unique strengths. They eventually figure out the pool and —

There’s an unspoken thing between him and Keith. He honestly never saw it coming, but Hunk and Pidge act like it was _a long time_ coming. As if nearly a year ago they weren’t more or less complete strangers despite Lance’s crows of a rivalry and their tolerance for each other existed on a threadbare live wire. 

_“Cargo Pilot-"_

_“Dropout-"_

It’s not something he’s going to think too much about, he wants to hang onto this one teenage normalcy with every last bit of his strength as gloved fingers snake down his wrist and lace with his own when they meet for debriefing. He’s being talked flying maneuvers and where to setup with his sniper rifle, but his heart’s rocketed into his throat because a boy with untamable hair and a wild smile is holding his hand.

He would move heaven and earth and Arus and any number of balmeras to see Keith smile, to get his cheeks pink with something saucy Lance has said, or to feel the way Keith’s entire body relaxes the second they get alone time by pressing kisses everywhere he can reach.

It’s a bias that comes at a startling rate, the second his helmet is on and he’s in his lion, it’s like he’s waiting. Listening for the warm rumble of the Red lion to blip onto his mental map.

He sits eagerly through the checklist:

The moment he hits Blue’s pilot chair, she wraps him up in a wave, suspended and warm, keeping him close to her. The phantom press of a forehead butting gently against his own.

The low, commanding growl of the Black lion waking its pride that has the electric spark of excitement zipping its way down Lance’s spine.

The Green lion purrs and growls like a cub ready to pounce, rolling and tumbling over the stretching savannah of space.

The Yellow lion wakes and rises in shifts, its footsteps lumbering friendly between the other lions but stalking and threatening to enemies. It pulls a chuckle from Lance every time. The Yellow lion as much the gentle giant as her paladin is, ready to use those giant, threatening paws and claws at a moment's notice.

Allura’s cool and confident quintessence spills over the connection and bathes them all in the thrill of the hunt. Pressing her hands to the foreheads of each of the lions, silently assuring them and telling them, _“I am right here.”_ And because she is Alfor’s daughter, she is greeted like an old friend.

The Red lion, working on her own time, gradually lights her way onto the connection. Like hunting prey, she will make her presence known at the last possible second - the one that counts the most. Once the signal is given, she’ll take off in a blur of color and she will expect the rest to catch up. It sparks a challenge in Lance’s belly, show her and her paladin they’re not doing anything he can’t do. Chase after that spark until it’s nice and smoldering and knows it’ll get him kissed breathless in retribution once they touch back down in the hangars.

In a roundabout way, Lance has thrown out there the conversation about whether or not they feel the other lions - he knows they do, but there’s a specific nugget of information he’s after despite how casually he stretches himself out on the couches when he asks. 

He asks several questions and answers fewer in return, but Keith is quick to pick up on what he must be putting down because his eyes land on Lance and never leave.

Later, on his way to his bed for the night, Keith catches his hand and holds him back. Lance doesn’t bother acting surprised because he’s been expecting this the second he breeched the topic of conversation. As it became clear that whatever the Blue lion felt like for the others was different than what Keith did (Lance assumes), Keith’s eyes glittered with understanding and intent. Dark and inquistive even under the bright lights of what they had accepted as the castle’s main living room.

So, Keith catches his hand in the dim lights of the hallway on the way to their rooms and holds Lance back. “Red feels different for you than the others, doesn’t she?”

He goes for aloof, casual, but knows the intensity swirling like a storm in his eyes probably gives him away. “Yeah, she does.”

“Good or bad?”

Lance knows exactly what he’s doing when he lets his eyes drop to Keith’s mouth - like he didn’t embarrass himself the whole way with fumbling youth to get to this point. “Good. Definitely good.”

He turns his wrist in Keith’s hold to slot their fingers together and squeeze Keith’s hand. Because he never once stopped thinking about Blue calling out to Keith in the desert— “Blue?”

The moment her name leaves Lance’s lips, relief crests over Keith. His hard edges soften and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it boyish charm completely takes over. There’s an interested light in Keith’s eyes and a flush high on his cheeks that has Lance’s heart aiming for his throat again. 

He’s owes Blue _so much_ for this. 

Without a word, Lance tugs on their joined hands to have Keith tip closer so he can bring his other hand up to Keith’s cheek and kiss him like the all stars were seconds from blinking out.

There’s a warmth that sweeps from the points they touch right down to his toes and he doesn’t think he could lift a foot off the ground even if he tried.

Before this, he only had poor descriptions of what he felt from Red, but _this_ \- this in the moment when his hand lets go of Keith’s to wrap around his waist and pull him impossibly closer and Keith’s own hands sneak up Lance’s chest to trail up and around his neck to weave his fingers into Lance’s hair - this is what Red feels like when she slinks onto the mind meld connection. 

The promise and adrenaline and challenge.

Lance is a romantic through and through, so he likes to think when the lions awaken, Red and Blue make their way toward each other (or maybe they just stay close enough they only really have to sit up) and nudge their foreheads together before the excitement of battle pulls them to their stations.

Lance kisses Keith again and again, through their laughter and right into the heated, lingering looks and touches of teenagers.

* * *

But with the glorious victory comes bitter defeat.

The fearful close calls.

A retreat they barely make it out of as Shiro orders them to abandon the base full of droids that were handing them their asses and get back into their lions.

Bile rises in Lance’s throat as he throws himself into his seat and thinks back to the number of droids that protected the base closing in on him, making it hard to use his bayard. A few of them he had to forgo shooting altogether and slam the butt of his gun into mechanical chests and heads, the sickening give of metal and sparking wires and brief glimpses of his friends taking hits threatened to drag him under.

He can’t stop hearing Red’s roar, the anguish and white hot anger as she takes a hit the second they take off from the base and she barrel rolls into the Yellow lion as their paladins yell over the comms. Lance does what he can to leap into line with Pidge as they cover their friends while they right themselves and run quick diagnostics for damage, the Black lion far off trying to shake a fleet of ships nipping at her heels.

Blue takes a mean hit to her shoulder and Lance topples out of his chair. He winds up checking his chin against the dash trying to catch himself from bashing his head against the controls. There’s white noise screaming in his ear as his teammates try to check in on his status and Allura orders them back to the castle as she powers up the cannon through the broken web of the castle’s defense shield.

It’s a mental car crash in his head.

The rest of what could barely be called a battle happens in flashes, he flies on autopilot and fires a few shots between; distantly aware of hits that rattle Blue’s hull. Shiro shakes the ships that were latching onto the Black lion giving Allura the open she needs to wipe them out with the last blast the castle’s cannon can make. He’s vaguely aware of talking over the comms and responding, helping Hunk carry the Green lion back to the castle while Red covers their six.

The second they hit the decks, the castle jumps into a wormhole and Lance is too zapped from the battle to notice the uncomfortable lurch of his stomach.

It isn’t the best, they only get a fraction of the information they were planning to hack from the base.

But it isn’t the worst, the weary roll call Shiro has them answer to means no one’s being rushed to a pod with dipping vital signs.

The stinging in his chin curbs just enough for everything to press back to Lance and the spill of anxious thoughts and disgruntled lions claw at his mind. He’s distantly aware of the Green lion whining against the power it takes for Pidge to run a detailed diagnostics report before the lion blinks off their mental mind meld radar and Pidge curses over the comms in their helmets.

It’s weird to feel what would just be a machine on Earth grit against pain and damage.

The Black lion also blacks out on the link and powers down. Shiro’s long suffering sigh rattles on the bond, the disappointment and worry and fear rearing its ugly head before Lance finally gets it together to yank his helmet off and toss it into the pilot chair. He can’t listen to anymore of it. His sole focus is to push himself out of the lion and either help carry someone to the medbay or just meet everyone there.

The pain in his chin branches out like a strike of lightning down his neck and up his jaw, just behind his ear. He’s lucky he didn’t lose any teeth, among other things. A droid shot at his back so the old wound from when he saved Coran from the blast in the castle aches and twinges. His armor held up, but he knows he’ll have to strip and let Coran assess if there’s been any additional nerve damage.

He’s so inside his own head, he doesn’t hear it at first.

It takes Lance a minute to focus back in on what’s in front of him - the tall columns of the winding hallways, the soft lights inlaid in the columns, Keith’s heavy and quick footsteps echoing off the floors and walls - all of it coming in right before Keith slams into him, connecting their mouths in a harsh clack. 

Lance’s teeth ache from the force of it and the buise on his chin pulses deep, digs right to his bones until it numbs out. He makes a startled, hurt noise but it doesn’t register for Keith because he’s still pushing implossibly close. Their armor checks up against each other in an awkward slide and it’s so different from when they first did this over a year ago, that it breaks Lance’s heart a little. He wheezes for a breath and he gets a twinge in his ribs for it where Keith has his helmet squished between them.

His eyes never close, but they finally focus past the head rush and initial surprise - Keith’s face is bruised with scuff marks marring his skin and his eyes squeezed shut so tightly Lance can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt. They got separated on the base early on and the fact swirls uncomfortably in Lance’s stomach.

He wasn’t there to give him back up.

Wasn’t there to stop the blows from coming as Keith yelled over the comms with each hit he took.

Lance took hits of his own, before checking his face against a metal control panel, so he’s under no assumption that he’s come out some shiny, golden hero with barely a scratch to show for it. But _fuck,_ he knows he doesn’t look as rough as Keith.

It’s not something they’re talked about explicitly, they’ve only spoken vague comments in the dark right before they’re about to pass out after a battle. The close combat thing, without being there to have Keith’s back, it terrifies him in the way that he knows Keith will push himself until he drops, will keep going until there’s nothing else to slice through.

Not all of the droids they throw themselves at are inept.

They don’t fall like dominoes with barely a glance.

There’s an intelligence that works through the updated gears in their heads that help them adapt in battle quicker.

Keith’s fingers slide against Lance’s chest plate before he finally gets one hand in the soft, black material of his flight suit and the other still scrambles for purchase somewhere to keep Lance close.

It’s barely a kiss at this point. 

Lance gets his hands between them, settling carefully on both sides of Keith’s face and gently pushing him back. Keith is shaking in his hands. It’s an excruciating few beats before Keith’s eyes flash open, a crashing storm on the brim of drowning.

_Oh, Keith._

He keeps them close, just enough to rest their foreheads together and keep eye contact. Keith’s mouth works around words that won’t come - Lance would be surprised if he actually had a voice left after all the yelling. Lance brushes his fingers through Keith’s hair - he doesn’t have to say anything, it’s okay. Lance _knows._

Lets Keith fumble in the search to hang onto Lance at a better angle.

Keith still shakes under Lance’s hands, even once they find the best place to rest.

Lance takes a deep breath, ghosts his thumb over Keith’s ear where he’s still cradling his face. “Easy…” His voice comes out strained and shaky. He takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and shifts Keith a little closer, the toes of their boots bumping. “Easy there…”

And the look Keith gives Lance breaks his heart. 

Totally and completely.

Feels it shatter and rain down against his ribs. 

This boy that fights for the stars and his found family looks like he thought he wouldn’t see Lance outside of a pod…or worse. He’s holding Lance back so hard it almost hurts, but it grounds Lance. It helps clear his thoughts a little and it sinks in that he didn’t imagine them making it out.

Their time alone is borrowed, it’s only going to be moments before the others come to check on them and they have to report to the medbay, but Lance won’t be the one to break this moment. He can see the desperation in Keith’s eyes, he needs this, and Lance does too. When he brings them back together, he presses his mouth softly against Keith’s. He falls back for only a second before he comes back, staying a little longer and adding only a little bit more pressure as he brushes his hand over Keith’s hair.

Lance allows his hand to fall from smoothing Keith’s hair to press the lightest pressure with his thumb down on Keith’s bottom lip to deepen the kiss. Keith tries to speed it up, make it unrelenting and bruising, but Lance is taking the lead on this one - his chin still aches and his heart can’t take racing any faster. He kisses Keith one more time before he ghosts his nose alongside Keith’s.

“I’m here.” He feels Keith’s subconscious glued to his own and this time, Lance doesn’t blanch away from it. He accepts it because he means what he says.

In this time post-battle where the press of their mental connection will gradually fade, Lance holds onto the tether. Weaves it with sure fingers as he tangles his hand with Keith’s and leads them to his room to take off the hard armor.

He doesn’t say anything when Keith’s feet keep bumping into his from how close he stays.

It makes him fall a little bit more in love with Keith, if he was being completely honest.

They don’t get the luxury of a normal relationship and testing out the waters, so the fumbling feet feel important in their relevance to what normalcy they might have had on Earth. If it was any other time, any other place, he’d tease Keith about being on his heels and at the unhealthy risk of getting Lance’s elbow in his stomach at any second.

He helps Keith with his chest plate and before he can lay it down completely on the bed, Keith’s hands are reaching and grabbing - doing his own personal battle with Lance’s chest plate. It’s not latched or sealed or whatever, just resting on his shoulders. He chuckles because seeing Keith this brand of impatient never stops being _so good._

Lance moves past Keith’s scrambling hands to hold his face in his hands. He’s mindful of the superficial injuries on Keith’s face and jaw, criminally gentle when his hands cradle Keith’s jaw and the back of his head. “Hey, I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

“Just- _off.”_ His voice is hoarse, gravelly and the ‘off’ comes out as more of a growl. He’s melted into Lance’s touch though and doesn’t move despite the little order he’s given Lance.

And no one can blame Lance for dropping forward to press his mouth to the absolute nest Keith’s bangs have practically become. “Mmkay, gonna do that off thing now.”

Does it to save them the unwanted fit Keith might have thrown for Lance taking his hands off of him without fair warning. Not that it matters, they’re still standing so close Lance can feel the body heat rolling off of Keith. He has to angle it a little to get the chestplate off without checking Keith with it.

He knows what to expect, could see it playing out in his head the moment he started to move the armor up over his head. But the _whoosh_ and impact of body weight into his own surprises him. His chestplate falls to the floor with an awkward clack, his feet stumbling a bit to reorient himself.

Lance’s hands come around to the small of Keith’s back, gently circling his fingers in the muscle there before brushing up the planes of Keith’s back until he’s got him in a good, solid hold. One of Keith’s hands comes in under his arm and back up over his shoulder with the other tight around Lance’s waist.

“Next time, we’re not splitting up.” Keith presses those words into the sensitive spot on Lance’s neck, sending a full body shiver through his boyfriend.

“Very here for that idea. Here, sit down on the bed.”

Keith puts up a little fight, stubbornly wrapping Lance up in his arms even tighter when Lance starts to pull away. It’s got a little winded gasp punching out of Lance, but it’s so fucking fond to even his own ears that it’s kind of embarrassing. He wants to stay here like this. Him and Keith taking turns to help each other out of the rest of their armor on their own time and getting side tracked by kisses and just holding each other.

But borrowed time.

Always borrowed time.

They’re going to hand Zarkon and his asshole empire their asses one day and every moment after will be theirs and theirs alone. None of this borrowed time. No more countdown ticks to lift off or detonations or stealth attacks. Just them and their friends and their families doing whatever they want and getting all of the time in the world to heal and be so stupidly in love they do that thing where they completely space out at even the tiniest amount of eye contact.

It’s tempting to lock the door and send their regards to the med bay _but they won’t be able to make it, so sorry._

Responsibility and that one time Hunk went with a concussion unchecked and maybe Lance and Pidge and Keith and Shiro also adding to the mix until Coran made post-battle med checks not only mandatory but crystal clear that they have to sleep sometime and Coran has no issue with overriding lockpads and physically manhandling someone to the medbay.

Altean strength and all, it wouldn’t even be considered breaking a sweat for the older Altean.

Lance keeps this in mind as there’s a few things they can do to make the mandatory health checks more comfortable.

He gets Keith to sit on the edge of the bed, gets the space back between them needed for Lance to drop to his knee and start work on getting Keith’s boots and greaves off. There’s a burn mark over the plate that sits over Keith’s right shin. It takes some effort for Lance to push past the dizzy feeling it creates in his head.

It’s fine, they’re fine. 

Once the armor is off and set to the side, Keith reaches down for Lance, fingers catching in the flight suit as he drags Lance up from his spot on the floor and over his body until they’re face to face again.

“I’m here, Lance.”

He shudders, body fighting the crest of emotion threatening to overtake him. Lance wraps one arm around Keith’s middle and squeezes. “That’s my line.”

Keith kisses him, soft and slow and Lance is relieved that all of this is doing something for him. Easing him out of that post-near-miss headspace that can be as brutal as it is unforgiving. Lance still feels so protective of him. Even when he’s brushing his thumb over Lance’s cheek as he moves to deepen the kiss.

Holds for a moment in question before Lance gives the go ahead. He sighs through his nose the same moment Lance sucks in a breath as the butterflies in his stomach start to kick up. It feels good. Annoying when he’s trying to front in their lighter moods but wholly welcomed in the time it takes for Keith to gently sweep his tongue over Lance’s bottom lip.

Lance relaxes his jaw, familiar with the dance as Keith shifts for a better angle. Keith runs his hand flat up Lance’s abdomen and chest, catching Lance by surprise from the way that simple touch leaves a burning trail over his skin - and he’s still in his flight suit and Keith is still wearing the gloves. It’s enough for Keith to press in a little deeper, make the room spin around them but—

He hates himself for it.

_“Fuck.”_

Lance yanks back, hand flying up to prod at the knot forming on his jaw.

“Sorry.”

“’s fine.” He rubs circles into the skin just above it, anything to curb the pulse of pain that winds its way down his neck and up to his temple.

Lance is going to be completely unreasonable until his chin and jaw heal up so he can kiss Keith as hard and for as long as he wants, isn’t he?

He sucks a harsh breath through his nose and wills himself to breathe out through his mouth nice and easy. “We shouldn’t be doing that now anyways.”

“I think anytime we almost die, we should be free to do exactly as we want.”

“Not arguing with you on that, wholeheartedly agree but—“

“Yeah, I know. _We need to change into comfortable clothes unless we want to be dragged to the medbay and halfway stripped out of the flight suit.”_

Outside of royal etiquette, Alteans have fewer hangups on being in various states of undress in front of other people than humans do. Even after everyone at this point has had to be yanked out of their armor and into a medsuit so they could be stuck in a pod, it’s nice to have the option of just wearing loose fitting clothing that could easily be maneuvered.

“Do you want to wear one of my shirts?”

Keith’s eyes soften at the question and everything about him seems to go still, there’s a shadow hanging in his gaze, but there’s a fondness there and something about his mouth that relaxes and it reminds Lance of peace.

“Yeah, I do.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> anyways this sat in my drafts for 3 and a half months oops. thank you so much for reading! talk to me on [tumblr](https://echotovalley.tumblr.com)?


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